My travels haven’t all been unicorns and fairies. In fact, I have met some pretty rude trolls on my journeys, and I don’t mean the cute kind of troll with the fluffy pink hair; I mean the dark slimy kind that live under bridges.
In 1996, I was living in LA as a professional belly dancer, when I was offered a 4-month job in Mexico City, dancing at an Arabic nightclub in Polanco. At the time, I really needed a stable income to get on solid ground, so I packed my suitcases. On my first night dancing, I wore my most beautiful costume, covered in black and gold sequins with a gorgeous Egyptian collar. I pulled my hair up into a genie ponytail and stood backstage with the 12-piece band that played my music. We were waiting to go onstage, the smell of lemon, honey, and cinnamon filling the air. A troll walked up to me in disguise as a tambourine player. He said, “I heard you were very beautiful, but you don’t look at all like your pictures. In fact, you are quite ugly.”
Now I could have said, “You aren’t being asked to be on the cover of any magazines yourself, Wiseguy,” but instead I burst into sobs. The band saw my distress, and they started yelling at the man in several languages, pushing him away from me and circling me, saying, “Don’t listen to him, he is stupid.” It was too late, my brave face and composure was gone, like a puff of smoke from a golden hookah. The band started to play, and I twirled onto stage with tears running down my face. The harder I tried to stop them, the more they flowed. I stood on chairs and kept my head tilted back, hoping no one would notice. I felt miserable and missed my best friend, Kim. She would have given that troll a piece of her mind if she had heard him.
I had planned to stay for four months, but I lasted four weeks. When I wasn’t performing, I spent my days at the spectacular museum, studying the ancient tiny clay sculptures of dancers, acrobats, and contortionists that had been found in archaeological digs. It made me feel happy that the entertainers in ancient times held a place of respect and honor, and were memorialized by some ancient sculptor.
It was a brutal month of loneliness, but I knew Kim was coming for me, and when she arrived, I threw my arms around her and said I couldn’t bear to be apart from her again. She was my tribe, my chosen family. We hopped a bus to Palenque in the Chiapas rainforest, swam in waterfalls, climbed ancient ruins, and made our way to the Yucatan where she restored me by making me laugh and holding my hand as we swam and snorkeled through the warm turquoise waters.
I vowed to myself to never ever allow a troll to humiliate me like that again. I haven’t always been successful, but now when I encounter a troll on my path, I know how to fight back. First, I imagine them wearing fuzzy feet pajamas. Second, I plan a dream trip, filled with activities that nourish my soul. Third, I dance barefoot, and with a swing of my hips, I am back on my path, holding up my lantern, looking for those rainbows and fairies.
